All According to The Plan
by WindTreesandStars
Summary: Quinn Fabray had a Plan.  She didn't like all of it, and she didn't like all it meant she had to do, but it was her Plan, and she needed to follow it.  It was sad that, along the way, others had to be hurt. Q/F and Q/R interaction, but Finchel at heart.


_AN: This is an attempt, in the light of the Quinn/Finn/Rachel storyline, to make some sense of what is happening with the characters. It is told from Quinn's perspective and focuses mainly on her motivations and her character's developments and seeming back-sliding. While it acknowledges Quinn's current relationship with Finn (as of Ep. 15 "Sexy") and has a lot of Quinn interacting with Rachel, this is not a Fuinn or a Faberry story; the underlying relationship is Finchel. _

_The story takes into account promotional spoilers for episode 16, 'Original Song'. The incorporation of those spoilers is speculative; the events from the earlier episodes are largely canon. _

_It seems superfluous to say it, but I do not own Glee._

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Quinn nervously knocked on the door of her house. Up until a couple weeks ago, she had never been inside—she hadn't even known where Rachel lived. But she learned the address when she came to that horrible glee party—horrible for many reasons, most of all for having to watch her former boyfriend's inseparable physical connection to her long-time rival during the entire, seemingly endless ordeal—and the house was easy to find again.

As she stood on the doorstep waiting for someone to answer, she experienced again the feelings that had hit her the last time she was under that roof. The party had been utterly humiliating; an _in-your-face,-Quinn-Fabray_ affirmation of just how much life could suck. There was no escaping seeing the results of having been dumped, _again_, and of having to face _once again_ the fact that it was her own fault; that her own actions and lies caused him to leave her. The whole night long, she felt like she was stuck in an hours-long kind of _déjà vu_: watching a former boyfriend in the arms of a brunette, and seeing another former boyfriend _(if he could be called that, because it wasn't like they'd ever really _dated_)_ with alcohol all around. Those damned wine coolers! The moment she arrived and saw them set out on the table, she'd almost turned around to climb back up the stairs and leave. Quinn hated wine coolers; they'd caused all of her problems in the first place. (_At least, that's what she always told herself—that nothing would have happened with him if she hadn't felt bad about herself and gotten drunk.)_

But then she saw Puck coming down with the newest, incredibly rude glee member behind him; one glance at the smirk on his face as his eyes traveled from the bottles of pink liquid to her face and she decided there would be no show of weakness in front of him or any of them. She was Quinn Fabray; she was better than all of them; if the world was working the way it _should_, they would be shrinking from her in awe and fear. She just had to get things working right again, and she had a Plan that was already in progress. This was just one night, and once it was over, she could concentrate on moving forward with her eyes set firmly on the prize: the Prom queen's crown.

But it surprised her to realize, yet again, how much it _hurt_ to see Sam with the other former Cheerio. She hadn't thought that she'd let herself care _that_ much for him; he was a nice guy, but he was (_she had been telling herself_) mostly a tool to aid her in restoring her reputation and place on top of the McKinley High social pyramid. (_Puck was another story; he had never been a tool to get to the top—he was what had disastrously become an irresistible temptation that brought her down, and that she couldn't allow herself to even think about anymore because it he could only prevent her from attaining the position she desired_).

Quinn knew that being on top mattered. Even if she'd hadn't learned so from all her experience as a cheerleader, she knew it from her mother. All her life, Quinn had been given never-ending instructions about the importance of popularity to get you where you needed to go in life (_her mom swore it was what got her into U of Arizona, and what got her pledged at the best of all the sororities_). Quinn had been raised according to the Judy Fabray Strategic Plan for Achieving Social Success, and the high-school portion of The Plan required the following: become a cheerleader and lead the squad; date a top jock (or _the_ top jock—status-wise, this inevitably meant the quarterback of the football team); scoop up as many crowns as possible (Homecoming, Winter Carnival, and both Junior and Senior Prom); stay away from people below you on the social scale in case they might lower your standing; never let yourself need anyone so much that, if they leave you, they can bring you down.

Quinn thought that maybe she'd messed up on that last one despite her best efforts, because Sam was now the third guy to leave her (_would things have worked out with Puck if she hadn't caught him sexting Santana—or, more to the point, if he hadn't been the guy who couldn't _not_ sext Santana when he was with her? She couldn't let herself wonder, because he _was _that guy and it _had_ happened_), and it sure felt like she had been brought down each time. But she wasn't going to let it happen anymore; she wasn't going to give in. She was going to focus on what was best for _her, _and do what she needed to do to get herself out of this town.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Last year (_it was, in fact, only a week and a few days shy of being exactly a year; she knew to the minute when Beth would turn one_), after signing the papers to give the baby away, Quinn left the haven of Mercedes' house and went back home to live with her mother. Judy Fabray spent the summer strategizing Quinn's comeback into the social strata, mapping out a plan of action worthy of a high-level military incursion. At first, Quinn hadn't been that interested; after the past several months, she wasn't sure that she still wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps and live out the Fabray-sanctioned life. When things got bad, as they had for her this past year, the Fabray way of living didn't hold up to the hype. And while her mother kept extolling the successful life that she had attained by achieving top popular status, Quinn couldn't help thinking that for her mom, it had led not to a perfect life but to a pregnant teen-aged daughter, a cheating husband, and divorce.

But as the summer went on and Quinn slipped back into the familiar pattern of her former life (_well, sort of familiar, because her dad was gone, and because she carried inside her a dull but constant ache of absence that had arisen when she gave her child away to be raised by Rachel Berry's mother, of all people_), she began to plan with her mother once again. Judy's dream for her had been Quinn's dream as long as she could remember. Without that goal to strive for, she didn't really know who Quinn Fabray was or was supposed to be. So she told Puck to stop calling her and stop coming by and stop texting her (_he never had tried to sext _her_; Quinn sometimes wondered why, and thought she might have been good at it if given a chance_). She told him to leave her alone, because she just wanted to put everything behind her and start fresh, and that could never happen if he was around (_and it certainly couldn't happen unless she stopped replaying, over and over in her mind, their short conversation outside the hospital nursery—"Did you ever love me?" "Yes. Especially now")_. He didn't give up right away, but by the end of July it seemed like he had gotten the message, and she didn't have to worry about rebuffing Puck anymore. She had gotten together with Mercedes a few times in June, but that, again, brought up painful memories, and Quinn just didn't feel like she could deal with them and do what she needed to do to move on. So, telling herself that she'd have plenty of opportunities to talk with Mercedes once glee began again (_glee was the one part of last year's "loser-life" that Quinn wanted to hold on to, because she really did, it turned out, love to sing, and because she knew deep down that she owed glee a huge debt of gratitude for standing by her through her hardest times_), Quinn let several chances for them to hang out pass by; Mercedes seemed to get the message much more quickly than Puck had.

One day in early August she drove by the school on her way to the library. Parked at a traffic light in front of the school, she looked out at the athletic fields and saw Cheerios in full uniform practicing their pyramids; she knew, from past experience, that Coach Sylvester's training started the first day of August, and that her former squad-mates had been there literally since the crack of dawn. Up on top of the pyramid, where Quinn used to tower above everyone else, was a girl with jet black hair and beautifully tanned skin; she knew that a tall blonde girl was somewhere in front, leading in the most fantastic of whatever dance routines were being developed.

Then her eyes strayed to the parking lot, where she saw a bright pink car (_only one person in all of Lima drove a pink Beetle_) that was disgorging two of McKinley's star football players—both of them her former boyfriends (_or whatever_), both now apparently being chauffeured to practice. Before the light turned so that she could move on, Quinn saw the athlete with a Mohawk give a nonchalant salute to the pink car's driver as he began to trot to the field house, while the giant teen (_how did he, let alone _both_ of them, even fit in that tiny car?_) bent over almost double to the driver's open window, where his lips met those of a dark-haired girl eagerly leaning up to him for a lingering kiss.

Quinn felt like she had been hit, several times, in the solar plexus. Right there before her was everything she had lost—position, power, and personal relationships. _ She_ should be out on that field, on top of that pile, most popular and powerful of all the popular girls. _She _should be the one who owned the lips of the quarterback, who was the secret desire of the top running back, the dream-girl of all the jocks. All of it had been hers, and she had lost it all. But no more; in that moment, she resolved to buy in fully to her mother's plan; when she got back to the house, she began adding details of her own to plan her comeback.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

And now, halfway through the year, here she was, The Plan successfully in motion. She'd gotten back on the Cheerios and again literally caused people to part before her as she walked through the halls, just like Mr. Schue had said would happen. She'd restored her reputation so that people didn't see her (_or at least wouldn't dare to admit it_) as the girl who got knocked up by Lima's resident bad boy. She'd perfected her GPA. She'd dated the boy who was quarterback for a while and who stood a good chance of being quarterback again—the "new" improved Finn; not just dated him, but gotten him to totally commit himself to her on _her_ terms . She'd proven to herself what she could achieve. And so, despite her recent derailment, Quinn was determined to keep things on track—a track that led straight to a throne and her undisputed acknowledgment as the queen of McKinley High. Once she got up that high, _no one_ would be able to topple her ever again; she'd be safe, and she could use her position to get herself out of this town and on to better places and people.

She'd already climbed so high that she had felt secure enough to come out of the uniform and, for once, go with what she _wanted_ to do rather than what she felt she was _supposed_ to do by choosing the glee club over Coach Sylvester. The football game was great, and, even though she'd been dressed like a zombie bride instead of being in the trim comfort of her Cheerio second-skin uniform, performing a spectacular half-time show and then leading cheers on the sidelines made her feel that she hadn't really abandoned her squad-leader position. She felt fine until Monday rolled around, when, as she walked down the corridors of the high school in her regular dress, she started noticing the looks. No one dared to say anything to her, but they weren't jumping out of her path anymore, either. Invariably, she started to fear that her stock would start to drop, and that people seeing her in regular clothes would begin to remember the last time she dressed this way—when she was pregnant, and at the bottom, and ashamed.

It was definitely a danger; having gone though it once before, she knew how swiftly one could go from being on top to being down in the depths of the social strata. How long would it be before people started to think of her primarily as a glee loser? And how long after that would it take for the slushie facials to be aimed at her once again? No way was she going back there. The question, then, was whether Sam had enough social status to help her hold on to her reputation. Like he'd said to her, they were on their way to becoming the stars of McKinley; but right now, in the wake of the state championship game, the brightest star in the school was McKinley's current quarterback, and he might be the one to whom Quinn would once again need to hitch her wagon.

It shouldn't be that hard to at least test it out, she thought; Finn was still smarting from what had gone down between him and Rachel after Sectionals, and they hadn't gotten back together. Even though she was still after him, Finn seemed to be standing strong; maybe he'd gotten Rachel Berry out of his system. A little bit of flattery, some well-timed flirtation, a kiss or two and maybe a little more of teasing mixed in with pleasing, and Quinn was confident that she would be secure in knowing that either of the top two coolest guys in school was hers for the taking.

Getting Finn's interest had been easy, and going after him in secret was, undeniably, a thrill. And when things had gone wrong with Sam (_damn Santana for her bitchy mono maneuver, and damn her even more for forcing Sam out of the comfortable lie she'd constructed for him so that he saw the truth. And, just maybe, damn Quinn, herself, for causing that broken look in Sam's eyes when he confronted her in the hallway and broke up with her, and damn herself again for remembering that same broken look in Puck's eyes each time she had pushed him away_), Finn _had _been there for the taking. She'd gone up to him the day after Sam broke up with her, saying that, upon reflection, she was relieved it had happened because she realized that Bieber didn't really do it for her after all, and Finn, glee's male lead, was _far_ more of an artist than Sam anyway, and if an artist turned her on then the combination of an artist _and_ the champion football star really got her engines roaring.

They'd started seeing each other that night, and now almost every afternoon when school was over, he would drive her home, and come in, and she would strive to make certain that he was going to keep coming back. Rejoining the celibacy club _was_, as she'd told Rachel, a way of focusing on herself again: it was part of The Plan to keep people from suspecting what was going on between her and Finn. While Quinn pretty much thought the whole thing was bogus at this point (_look where it had gotten her last year; Ms. Holliday was right—knowledge and information would have done a lot more for her than believing a guy when he promised "trust me"_), she needed the cover; it was like one of those shell games that street vendors would play, trying to get you to bet on which container had the marble under it as they continually shifted them around. Focus people's gaze in one direction, and they never saw what going on right under their noses.

And misdirection was, apparently, essential to The Plan's success, at least at this stage, because Finn, who would go along with everything else she proposed, was stubbornly refusing to go public with their relationship. He insisted that no one could know. He said that the glee club's dynamics could not be upset again so close to Regionals; that they couldn't risk driving Sam away and losing their twelfth member by flaunting things in his face; that, as team leader (_"And that's what you said you liked about me Quinn, right? My leadership on the field and off?"_), he was responsible for keeping things quiet, even, and focused on winning.

Quinn could tell that this was a deal-breaker and so agreed to the secrecy. She had time—there were two months until the Junior Prom, and Regionals was coming up in a week or so. And she thought that he, like her, was partially turned on by the secrecy of it all, too; it couldn't last forever if her Plan were to work, but for now it was like indulging in the forbidden-a little bit dangerous and exciting. If she planned their prom election campaign out well ahead of time, there would be ample time for them to come out as a couple and set things in motion as soon as Regionals were over. And Quinn would convince Finn that there was plenty of time between Regionals and the Nationals competition _(if they got that far)_ for people to get over any hurt feelings that might arise from learning that Finn and Quinn were together again, ruling the school once more. Any negative fall-out would have plenty of time to dissipate without harming their Nationals performance.

And if, _after_ Regionals, Finn still objected to letting the school know about them? Well, then Quinn would take matters into her own hands. She was pretty sure that Sam's feelings were not Finn's real concern. She'd pressed him on this once, asking if it was really _Sam_ whom he was worried about. He had pulled his confused face and stammered that of course it was; that she knew how hard it would be to find another member now and that they'd probably wind up with Jacob again if they lost Sam. Pressing further, Quinn had asked him if he wasn't _really_ bothered by the idea of Rachel finding out, not Sam. He had shifted his eyes away, hunched his shoulders, and sighed deeply. Then he had said, "Look, it will probably bother her, OK? And . . . you know we need her to win; there's no need to do something to hurt her. Just—this is working for me now, and I thought it was working for you, too. Why change things when there's no need? I really want to win this competition, and I don't want to do anything to mess that up." (_She wondered when Finn had become so good at hiding what he was really thinking. And what had taught him to be that way._)

Quinn decided not to press him on whether he wanted to win Regionals for himself, for the team, or because it mattered so much to Rachel; she suspected that she might not like the answer if he told her the truth. So she agreed to keep things secret (_at least until after Regionals_). Which meant that she had to suffer through Rachel's party on her own, with only a nod of hello from Finn when he arrived and a glance or two during the evening (_and while it had been reassuring to see him push the clingy person Rachel became when drunk off of him, it was less so to observe his fixed stare at her when she kissed and then sang with the Dalton kid_.) It left Quinn with nothing to do, once the group moved on from tequila shots and Quarters, other than to watch Sam and Santana devour each others' faces and to try to figure out, for the millionth time, what the hell Rachel was wearing. And it meant that they always sat apart in glee club, and never spoke to each other in front of anyone else. And it meant that she had to join the celibacy club again, and let herself be trapped into hours of refusing information when Rachel showed up (_and wasn't that kind of when things had started to go wrong last year? When Rachel showed up at the club, clearly intent on pursuing Finn?_) and started grilling her about whether she and Finn were together now. And it meant that she had to come up with a quick and stupid lie when Puck's all-too-observant and knowing glance saw the bruise on her neck.

Which meant that she had to be _here_, where she did _not_ want to be, knocking on Rachel's door an hour after the celibacy club meeting had ended.

Because while she'd fooled Brittany with her curling iron story, and while Artie, Santana, and Lauren had seemed indifferent, and Puck had seemed amused (_and she wasn't going to look at Sam to try to see how he was reacting, or if he cared at all_), Rachel's face was another matter. It reflected skepticism and worry in equal measure as she stared at the side of Quinn's neck while chewing on her bottom lip; in her eyes was what looked like dawning enlightenment. Quinn had seen that look before. She remembered it as if it were yesterday—when Rachel put two and two together last year, figuring out on her own that Puck, not Finn, was Beth's father.

Quinn didn't know how the girl had figured it out, but after the way it had burst open her lie and torpedoed the illusion in which Quinn had encased Finn, Quinn had developed a healthy respect for Rachel's powers of intuition and deduction. If Rachel figured out that she and Finn were back together, past performance suggested she would _not_ keep that information quietly to herself; Finn's mandate for pre-Regionals secrecy would be violated on the spot. And if Quinn's suspicions were right, Finn would be angry first and foremost that_ Rachel_ knew,_ especially_ if she got upset (_and this was freaking Rachel Berry, queen of drama; of _course_ she'd be upset, and in the loudest way possible, right?_). This could spell the end of things with her and Finn, _again_. And that would destroy her Plan—no Prom queen, no perching on the pinnacle of high school success, no more Cheerios, no boyfriend, no anything—she'd be just Quinn Fabray, teen mother, child of divorced parents, member of the glee club: a Lima loser.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

A few minutes after she ceased knocking, Quinn heard light footsteps coming to the door. As it slowly opened, she scanned Rachel's appearance to see what clues it might give her about how to proceed. The shorter girl was still dressed in the same navy blue sweater she'd worn to school _(Quinn had gone home, telling Finn she had errands to run so that he didn't come in, and had changed out of her school clothes before setting out on this mission; she wondered if she had subconsciously dressed in the same color as Rachel to try to create the illusion of a bond between them). _Rachel's hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, but where it had been smooth and perfectly shiny and straight and groomed just an hour ago, her hair was now disheveled and escaping from the constraining band, as if it had been buried in pillows for the past hour. Rachel's face was flushed; her eyes looked red. And she looked simultaneously shocked by and resigned to seeing Quinn on her doorstep.

Quinn figured that Rachel must be reflexively polite, because before even asking why she was there, the brunette invited Quinn inside and asked if she could get her anything to drink. Declining, Quinn told Rachel that she'd come by because they needed to talk. The other girl stared into her eyes for a second and then, seeming to brace herself, suggested they go up to her room since her dads would be home from work at any time. Quinn could tell how apprehensive Rachel was about the visit, about what Quinn had come to say, by the fact that not a word came from Rachel's mouth as they walked up the stairs and into her room.

Quinn's eyes quickly roamed over yellow walls covered with posters from Broadway musicals as Rachel invited her to sit down on a chair by the dressing table. On a desk were sheets of paper covered in handwriting—Rachel's writing (_Quinn had seen it often enough in the margins of glee club sheet music, giving instructions and directions on how to sing and where to move in the choreography and on what types of emotions to project at which points in any given song_). The paper was slightly crumpled, and here and there the ink on the pages appeared blotted or smeared, as if droplets of moisture had scattered over the words. The writing looked like it could be verses of poetry. The cap was still off of a pen sitting beside the papers.

Turning her head slightly to the left, Quinn saw ticket stubs and playbills from theater productions thrust into the edges of a large mirror, and two unframed photographs pinned beneath it. One picture was of two men whom Quinn guessed were Rachel's dads; it looked like it was taken in a backyard. The men were absolutely beaming at the camera, looking adoringly at whoever was behind the lens. (_Quinn felt a sudden pang_ _as she remembered the last look her father had given her as he kicked her out of the house_.) The other photo was of Rachel, uncharacteristically dressed in shorts and a halter top out by a lake, laughing as she gazed not at the camera (_didn't Rachel always pose staring directly into a camera lens?_) but up into the eyes of the boy whose arms were wrapped around her, whose head was bent down towards her, and whose face was mirroring the laughter and happiness of the girl.

Rachel's voice quietly said, "So . . . you said we need to talk?"

The sound pulled Quinn's gaze from the photographs to rest on the girl sitting across from her on a wooden chest at the foot of a bed. The expression that confronted her was very different from that of the laughing girl in the photo of last summer. For a moment, Quinn almost felt bad about what she was doing, bad about the fact that, by pursuing her relationship with Finn, she was effectively sending the laughter-filled Rachel into permanent exile. Her eyes strayed again, this time looking over Rachel's shoulder to a bedside table where there was another photograph. This one was in a frame; it was carefully placed so that someone lying in the bed with her head on the pillows would be able to look directly at it. There was the boy again, dressed in a tuxedo with a cognac-colored boutonniere, his lips curved in a tender smile, his eyes alight with love and devotion. Quinn knew that boy—very well, she thought—but she had never seen just that look on his face before. Another pang of doubt and hesitation assailed her.

But there was a Plan at stake, a Plan on which _her_ position and place and potential for the future depended, and Quinn could not afford to go soft. Looking into Rachel's eyes (_Quinn had learned long ago that people were much more likely to believe whatever you told them if you looked them in the eyes while saying it_), Quinn said, "You looked upset when you left today. And you look upset now. What happened?" (_Another thing she had learned—gather information from others so you know your ground before offering anything on your own. Knowledge _is _power_.)

Rachel's eyes dropped, and then she looked back right at Quinn, brown eyes connecting with hazel.

"What Puck said; is it true? And was it Finn? I know you said it isn't any of my business, but you came here on your own. And he told me how he felt when he kissed you. And Sam isn't with you anymore, so no one is in the way of things. And . . . so, was it Finn?"

"No, Rachel. It _isn't_ anyone's business, but no. Finn and I are not together. I'm focusing on myself now, just like I said." The prepared lie slipped easily from her lips; the words were of strategic importance at this stage of the game. Quinn kept her eyes fixed on Rachel's, refusing to let them waver.

After a searching stare that seemed to last for hours, Rachel's body drained of tension; her eyes started to tear up a little as her lips tugged slightly upward and a shaky laugh emerged from them.

"Thank you, Quinn. Thank you for telling me. I know it shouldn't matter; I don't have the right to let it matter; but, I can't seem to help it—it _does_ matter to me. Even when he doesn't feel the same way, I just can't seem to let go."

Before she could hold back the words, Quinn let slip a sardonic, "Oh trust me, I know the feeling; been there, done that. I know what it's like to be the girl who cheated on Finn."

Rachel quickly looked up at her again. "I know. Better than anyone, probably, you understand how I'm feeling."

"Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?" Quinn said.

"Ironic; yes. Ironic indeed."

Rachel was silent for a little bit more, and then she opened her mouth; closed it; opened it again and slowly said, "Can I ask you something else? I won't push you for an answer if you don't want to respond."

At Quinn's nod (_what was coming next, she wondered_), Rachel stammered, "You . . . you ch-cheated on him. And lied to him. And even though you aren't together, it appears that he has forgiven you. Do you know why?"

Quinn heard the subtext to Rachel's question: "_Do you know why he won't forgive me?"_ Taking a moment to think about what she wanted to say (_and what might be best to say in these circumstances_), Quinn finally voiced, "I don't know; I'm not even sure he _has_ forgiven me, and I don't know why he can't seem to forgive you. He told me . . . ." and her voice trailed off as she considered how the next words might affect her Plan.

"He told you . . . ?" Rachel hesitantly questioned.

Quinn decided to go on. "When we were in the auditorium before we kissed that one time and got mono, I told him that if he had me kiss him, he'd be making me into a cheater; that he'd be getting me to do the thing that caused him to break up with both of us." She paused for the briefest of seconds as she registered Rachel's involuntary flinch at the words _in the auditorium_ and _we kissed that one time_, and then continued.

"He told me that what hurt about us cheating on him was that it meant we didn't love him enough, enough to keep from hurting him. He said that if you _really_ loved someone, you'd do anything to keep from hurting them, to keep them safe. Somehow he's convinced himself that neither of us ever really loved him, because he's been hurt by us both."

"He . . . he thinks I didn't _love _him?" Rachel gasped.

She started to cry, huge silent tears rolling down her face in waves. Quinn looked away. Something in the words she had related was beginning to strike her with blinding clarity, and she didn't like what that clarity meant. Furthermore, she was uncomfortable being here in Rachel's room, (_was there a Broadway musical that _wasn't _represented on her walls? No wonder she knew every single word to every single song in every single one of them_), and she wasn't sure how to get the conversation where she wanted it to go next.

"I know he doesn't feel the same about me," Rachel eventually whispered, "but how could he think I didn't—that I _don't_—love him?"

Quinn decided a switch of tactics was called for. She forced herself to stand up, walk over to Rachel, and sit down beside her.

"Rachel, he was hurting. I don't think he could see beyond his hurt, so he came up with his own explanation for why what happened, happened. You know, he never—not once, in all the months since he learned about Puck—never, ever asked me _why_ I did what I did. It's like he figured out an answer on his own and never bothered to see if it was right."

As the words came out of her mouth, Quinn sensed the truth in them and made up her mind that sometime—when the time was right—she'd ask Finn why he never asked her why. "I think that's how he's making himself feel OK about not telling you about Santana; he's telling himself that the lie was OK because he thinks he did it to keep you from being hurt, not to _try_ to hurt you."

Rachel's head whipped around, what was left of her ponytail slapping the side of her neck.

"So I should have _lied_ to him, and not told him about Puck? That's what he would have preferred?"

"Well," said Quinn, wryly, "that didn't work out so well for me, did it?"

"I know; I thought of that as I was telling him," Rachel muttered. "I acted impulsively and struck out without thinking because I wanted him to feel as hurt as me, to know how it felt for me; and I wanted to feel that someone—_anyone_—found me attractive, and, realistically, who else was there for me to go to but Noah? No one else can stand me; no one ever did, really, but Finn, and now . . . ."

Sobs overtook her, and her body started to rock back and forth with the force of them.

Feeling awkward and unnatural, because Quinn was anything but a hugger or comforter, the blonde girl put her arm around Rachel. Drawing up beside her and resting her head on Rachel's shoulder, Quinn tried patting her on the back once or twice in what she thought might be a soothing manner (_it was what Mercedes had done for her more than once when she found Quinn sobbing about her pregnancy-what had happened so far, and what was coming_). Eventually Rachel seemed to calm down, her body becoming still, her face streaked with the tracks of tears. Quinn waited, biding her time, until Rachel said in a tiny voice, "Thank you. Again."

"It's OK. I mean, you're welcome," Quinn replied. "I've shed my share of tears over Finn Hudson, too. It's . . ."

"Ironic," they chimed together.

After hearing that shaky laugh come from Rachel again, Quinn decided it was safe to follow up on the as-of-yet-unexplored piece of information Rachel had let fall earlier.

"Rachel . . . can I ask _you_ a question?"

"Of course," came the swift reply.

"You said Finn told you how it felt when he kissed me; what did he say?"

There was a long silence. No more tears; no motion; nothing, except tension again freezing up all of Rachel's limbs until Quinn felt like she was leaning against a granite statue. She was just getting ready to say, "never mind, it doesn't' matter," when Rachel uttered the one word.

"Fireworks."

"What?"

"I asked him what it felt like when he kissed you—that afternoon in the nurse's office, after your mother had taken you home. I had to know if Santana was telling the truth, so I went and asked him; after he said yes, I asked him how it felt. He said 'fireworks.'"

Quinn thought about that for a while. "Did he say anything else?"

Again, silence. Quinn looked up to see Rachel's face twisted into what looked like a living horror mask. She wondered what could possibly come next.

"I asked him if he felt fireworks when he kissed me." The words came out, precise, perfectly articulated, devoid of any emotion. "He didn't say a word."

"He didn't say . . . .?

"Nothing," Rachel said. "That's when I knew I needed to move on. When I knew I'd just been fooling myself. Because he likes my voice and my talent. He's liked having me as a friend, some of the time, I think, at least. But that's all. I'd tricked myself into thinking there was more, but he never really liked me _that_ way. He never felt fireworks with me. I was just there when he wasn't with you and didn't want to be alone. So I've tried; I'm trying. It's just hard to let go of something that means so much, even when it is not reciprocated."

"Rachel," Quinn said. She knew that she should just let it lie; that letting Rachel feel that way, letting her drown in her own insecurities (_it was amazing how someone with absolute confidence in her talent and star-power was an absolute mess when it came to being confident in personal interactions_), would be a big benefit when the news of her relationship with Finn finally came out. It was, really, the perfect situation to ensure that Rachel Berry would pose no further threat to The Plan. But something in her—maybe something that contrasted her own distance and withdrawal to Rachel's automatic "of course" when asked to answer a question and felt shame as a result—compelled her to go on.

"Rachel, that can't be right. I know Finn, and he and you . . . ."

Rachel cut her off.

"Thank you yet again, Quinn. It's very kind of you to try to make me feel better. You've been more generous that I had a right to expect. But I always knew it was a dream that wouldn't last. He was with _you_. He _had_ Santana. There's no way I can come close to measuring up. I need to find a way to let go of my fantasy and focus on dreams that are attainable. But it helps to know what he told you—that he thought, because I hurt him, that I didn't love him. I'll find a way to tell him that isn't so, and then maybe he'll forgive me and I'll be able to let go and move on."

A voice sounded from downstairs, "Rachel, sweetheart, we're home."

"That's my dads," Rachel unnecessarily explained, as Quinn stood up. The blonde looked down at the girl who had just exposed the deepest insecurities of her heart. She thought again that she should try to correct Rachel's perceptions, but she didn't know that she'd be able to sway the girl's mind. And maybe, just maybe, Rachel was reading Finn correctly; maybe he _did_ feel something for her that he found lacking in Rachel. Quinn wondered what had changed in her to make her think that was only a possibility; a year ago, she'd have believed it and said it in an instant, without question.

Detecting this change in her attitude toward herself and toward this girl she'd once delighted in ridiculing on a daily basis, Quinn suddenly felt a fracture begin to mar the perfection of her Plan.

_Confidence_,_ Quinnie_, her mother would tell her. _To get to the top, to reach the heights, you need to have absolute confidence in yourself. Walk like a queen, Quinn; like you can do no wrong, and like anyone who doubts you should be sent to the Tower for imprisonment and execution. If you believe you are on top, you'll _be _on top. Move like you own the world._

Rachel wanted to be a star, to shine on Broadway for the whole world to see. Well, she wasn't the only one with a goal. Quinn had a plan to get out of Lima too, to see and be seen in bigger and better places, and she needed to keep moving that plan forward to get where she wanted to go. Junior Prom Queen was the next step, so Junior Prom Queen she would be. Rachel had decided to move on, and had provided herself with a reason to do so; if she moved on, then Quinn didn't have anything to fear from any possibly lingering feelings Finn might have for his former girlfriend. This was good; this would help The Plan; it was better than anything Quinn had imagined when she set out for Rachel's house that day.

"Thanks for telling me, Rachel. I'm glad we talked," Quinn said (_and for once she was saying something other than an insult with complete sincerity_.) "I guess I'll see you at glee tomorrow. Take care, OK?"

Rachel stood up then. "You're welcome Quinn. See you tomorrow."

Quinn walked down the stairs, Rachel following behind her, and went out the door.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Listening from the wings as Rachel belted out her ballad, Quinn knew that the musician in Rachel had found a way to tell Finn she was sorry, a way that he would finally hear. From their conversation, she did not think that Rachel had written "Get it Right" to try to get Finn back. The the words of the song were an explanation, an attempt to make him understand that she knew she had messed everything up, but that she had never really wanted to _hurt_ him-she had just wanted him to understand how hurt she was feeling. It was a song to make explicit that she only did what she did because she cared too much, not too little. Quinn overheard Rachel, right before she went on stage, ask Finn to listen closely and to know that she meant every word. She wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, but Quinn felt more than a little bit of awe toward Rachel for being so direct, for exposing herself utterly in her effort to let Finn know what he meant to her so that he could forgive, let go of his anger, and be at rest. _I could never do that_, Quinn thought. _I could never let myself be that vulnerable to anyone else_. _It's too hard when it doesn't work out and you're suddenly left on your own._

The ballad drew to a close, and Quinn got ready, along with the other New Directions members, to join Rachel, Tina, and Brittany on the stage for their final number. (_Quinn could and would sing it, and could even admit that it was an appropriate song to describe glee club, but it went against the grain to embrace the title "loser"; that's _not _the image people were going to hold of Quinn Fabray_.) Looking around at her teammates' faces, she saw their reactions to Rachel's song, which only Tina and Brittany had heard before now. Mercedes looked like she did at the end of their diva-off—filled with admiration for Rachel's talent and with fondness for the girl who had become her friend. (_For a moment, Quinn let herself feel sad for never following up on her friendship with Mercedes this year; she'd meant to do it, but The Plan demanded all of her attention and effort_.) Santana, surprisingly enough, had tears in her eyes; she looked like she could relate to everything Rachel had just sung. Puck looked kind of like Mercedes—proud, admiring, and filled with genuine liking for the pint-sized girl (_who'd have thought that McKinley's most notorious playboy would end up such good friends with prim and proper Rachel Berry? Puck, when questioned, would just smile and say, "Must be a Jew thing."_) Lauren, as always, looked indifferent; Artie, Mike, and Sam's faces seemed to say, _We've got this in the bag!_

Lastly, Quinn turned to look at Finn, who was standing slightly behind her and off to the side. Tears had welled up in his eyes, and his face was filled with a look that Quinn knew she had seen before but couldn't place: tears running down a face graced by a quavering, crooked smile. She watched him put his hand up to brush the tears away. Her eyes traced the movements of his hands as they went to his throat and characteristically straightened his tie. His eyes were unwaveringly fixed on Rachel until seconds before their cue to go on stage, when he looked around at the team to make sure everyone was ready for their entrance. As his features adjusted, ready to sing, Quinn realized where she'd seen the expression before. It was on a day last September. A day when Quinn had agreed to help Rachel out (_not because she was feeling especially altruistic, truth be told, but because Rachel's request gave her a perfect excuse to pose a question she had wanted to ask anyway, and had really hoped would have a different answer_). A day when she tested Finn to see if his renewed status on the football team had convinced him that he could do better than loser Rachel Berry, that he should be with her again. A day when Rachel's voice soared above the entire glee club in a song dedicated to her boyfriend. A day when Quinn, looking over at that boy who had once been hers, saw tears and a trembling, crooked smile filled with love directed at the artist who was shamelessly singing her heart out to him.

Quinn's heart sank, and, after their performance and the awards, when they were celebrating back stage, she saw something that caused it to sink still further. Finn had hugged Rachel after their set was done, and again on stage when the trophies were handed out, but everyone was hugging everyone in an excess of jubilation, with even Kurt and some Warblers coming over to join in the action; Quinn knew that there was nothing to worry about there. But now, Finn had pulled Rachel slightly over to the side. He wasn't even aware that Quinn was standing in listening range; all of his attention was focused on the other girl.

He put a hand on each of her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and earnestly said, "I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you, Rach. And I listened. I heard every word, and I understand. _Thank_ you."

Looking back into his eyes, brown on brown, Rachel said, "I meant it; _all_ of it. Do you think that you will ever be able to . . . ."

Before she finished the sentence, he interrupted, saying, "There's no 'ever' about it; I've already forgiven you. And Rachel, truly, there aren't words to describe that song."

The brunette girl's smile slowly blossomed, finally taking over her entire face, and she whispered, "Thank _you_ Finn. For forgiving me. For believing in me. Just . . . thank you."

They didn't hug; they stood apart, Finn's hands on her shoulders holding them at a distance, with no other contact between them. But Quinn didn't think she had ever seen two people who looked as close to each other as Rachel and Finn did in that moment. And on his face she saw another familiar expression—this time, one she'd first glimpsed only a week ago, though not in person. It was the expression on the face of the boy in the photograph on Rachel's bedside table.

Quinn felt The Plan begin to crumble around her.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

She asked Rachel to meet her in the auditorium. She said she wanted help working on one of the songs they were considering for Nationals. (_Personally, Quinn thought it was kind of a joke. No matter how many times Mr. Schue told them they needed to get working on a set list for the next competition, they always ended up deciding on and learning their performance numbers at the last minute. Finn had said back at their first Sectionals, when it seemed like everything was falling apart, that they were best when they were loose. Quinn guessed he was right; certainly, they didn't have any other type of preparation to compare it to._) Quinn was sitting at the piano when Rachel came on to the stage.

It was a week after Regionals, and Quinn needed to get the Prom election campaign in motion. Junior Prom was still a month and a half way, but the electioneering was fierce, and it required time to do it right. She had carefully, and repeatedly, explained this to Finn as they lay on her bed in her plush, purple room (_he'd been good, as he promised, about being careful to place hickeys in hidden spots, but that hadn't been a concern this week; it felt like their intimacies were lacking the passion that had been there before, and hickeys weren't happening at all. Quinn found herself wondering how brightly those fireworks were still sparking for him_), but he kept putting her off, saying there were still weeks to go, that they still had to think about the dynamics in glee because Nationals was going to be a killer. Quinn realized that he would never be the one to agree to make things public, and she knew her earlier suspicions were the reason. Sharing Finn's words with Rachel had made it all clear to her: his words that when you really loved someone, you did anything you could to keep from hurting them. If (_when_) Rachel found out about them, she would be hurt; Quinn knew it, and Finn did, too. Finn was never going to agree to let Rachel know that he and Quinn were together and doing what they were doing because of how it would hurt her. It all confirmed what Quinn already had figured out: even though he wouldn't admit it to himself, Finn was still utterly in love with Rachel. It didn't come as a huge surprise; an objective part of Quinn's brain could even admire Finn's stubborn chivalry.

But this wasn't just about Finn and Rachel. There was a third player here, and that person—she, herself, Quinn Fabray—had to think about herself. She would not get elected Queen of the Junior Prom if she didn't effectuate her campaign. Her campaign depended on having her name linked to that of the star quarterback (_and after shedding her Cheerios uniform at his urging, Finn _owed_ this to her!_). The linking would not carry the required force and impact unless everyone in McKinley High knew that Finn and Quinn were an item—unless they were seen as being the hottest, coolest, most with it, most together, most natural couple to assume the crowns and thrones. McKinley needed to believe their crowning was _inevitable_, and none of that would happen if people thought they were randomly running together because they were exes and, after being dumped by Sam, Quinn wasn't able to find anyone else. For The Plan to come together, their world had to link the names _Finn_ and _Quinn_ so strongly together that it seemed like they shared only one name between them. (_They almost had the same name already, so it should be easy. Fabson? Hudbray? Maybe Fuinn would have to do._) And for that to happen, Quinn needed to take matters into her own hands.

She started out by complimenting Rachel again on her Regionals ballad. She said that Rachel had really accomplished her goal; she'd found a way to make Finn understand that, no matter how much she messed things up, she had really loved him and did really care. She confessed that she had overheard Finn backstage when he said that he had forgiven Rachel.

And then she asked, "So how is that next part going? The 'finally being able to let go and move on' part of the plan?"

Rachel gazed at her intently, trying to figure out why Quinn was bringing this up now.

"That part, I have to confess, is even more of a challenge than I thought it would be. I thought I could do it; with Nationals and New York ahead, I have more than enough I need to focus on. But it just . . . I can't seem to . . . I can't help feeling like there's still something there, you know?"

Quinn knew she had to dig in the knife to do what she needed to do. "Something there like_ fireworks_?"

Rachel's eyes became stricken, acknowledging the impact of the blow. Her voice slightly shaking, she said, "Just, something. I can't . . . I'm _not_ giving up on Finn, OK? It's not over between us."

Quinn bit her lip, shifted her feet. She didn't _want_ to have to do this. Last year she'd have fought off others in order to be the one to deliver a mortal blow to Rachel Berry, but, even though she didn't like having to acknowledge it, Quinn _had_ changed. She wasn't going to let herself get screwed over; _she_ would be the one _doing_ the screwing; but it didn't mean anymore that she _liked_ doing it.

"Rachel, this is real life," she began. "It isn't a fairytale or a fantasy. Do you know how this story plays out? I get Finn; you get heartbroken."

"Whu . . . what do you mean? You get Finn? But you said . . . and . . . but . . . you don't _know_ that," Rachel insisted, denial on her face. "He was with me once before. You're not together now . . . ."

Quinn's verbal arm drew back to deliver her knock-out punch.

"I _do_ know it. He _is_ with me now. Has been for quite some time, actually."

She continued on in the face of the absolute betrayal and dismay spreading across Rachel's face.

"We got together the night after Sam dumped me—remember, the day you suggested we sing original songs for Regionals? I suppose, after all this time, we should trust your instincts about music; when it comes to glee, you're almost always right. But relationships just aren't your thing. Stick to what you know, Rachel."

She saw anger and denial mixing in with the hurt and sorrow and betrayal on Rachel's face—how much of it for Finn, and how much for Quinn, who maybe she'd begun to think of as a friend, was hard for Quinn to guess. Staving off a Rachel Berry tirade, Quinn kept going.

"I told you, you know, that my relationship with Finn was not any of your business. And it seems I misspoke, after all, at your house; Puck_ was_ right, and yes, it _was_ Finn. He's become quite the connoisseur himself, you know; I can't speak to shapes like balloon animals, but I imagine there are some other things he could teach even Puck by now."

Ignoring a broken, "But Finn . . ." from the shorter girl, Quinn spoke right over her.

"Finn and I agreed to keep things to ourselves until after Regionals. We didn't want to rub things in Sam's face and risk him quitting the team; we didn't want to do anything that would harm New Directions' dynamic right before such an important competition. As the other team leader, I know you can appreciate this, Rachel. In fact, I know Finn was specifically concerned about you, worrying that without your voice there was no way we could beat the Warblers and Aural Intensity. So we decided to keep things under wraps until Regionals was past instead of risking the team's chances."

An immobile, frozen Rachel was standing before her; she looked like a ghost in the flesh. But the immobility wouldn't last forever. Quinn knew that Rachel had seen the look on Finn's face after their performance last week. She needed to thrust the knife in all the way, so that Rachel, when she started processing everything, would be primed to convince herself that the look had nothing to do with love. She needed Rachel to give in to every insecurity she'd ever had about herself and about Finn, so that she would give up on him once and for all. It was essential that Finn would not have any reason to think it was worthwhile trying to chase after her. Quinn needed to end things between Rachel and Finn for good, here and now.

"I'm excellent in English class, and I told you: _I know the story_. I get Finn; I already _have_ Finn; and this time there will not be a Puck or a Sam or anyone else to mess it up. I know what I've got and I'm holding on to it. We're going to run for Prom Queen and King; we're going to win; and we're going to stay together for the rest of our time here as _the _"it" couple of McKinley High. I'm sorry—really, I am—that you have to end up heartbroken for me to enjoy my happy ending, but sorry doesn't change the way things are. It's like you said in your song-sometimes life isn't fair. By the end of the day the announcement of my and Finn's epic reconciliation will run on Jacob ben Israel's blog, and beside it will be our Prom campaign ad. He's forgiven you, he likes you as a friend, and he admires your talent, but you were right, Rachel—he's just not _in_ to you; he's _in_ to me. Finn and I are together like it was always supposed to be. End of story; that's all she wrote."

Rachel's face crumpled, and a tidal wave of those silent tears coursed over her face without ceasing. Without a word or a sound, Rachel turned and ran out of the auditorium.

It's not the way Quinn had wanted to do it. If only Finn had been willing to cooperate, they could have acted like a normal couple, Rachel and everyone could have found out the normal way, and things could have moved forward smoothly. But just because Finn wouldn't go along with things as planned didn't mean that they weren't going to happen. She knew who she was, she knew where she wanted to go, and she knew what she needed to do to get there. She was Quinn Fabray, and she _was_ going to (_she _had_ to_) move forward with her Plan. Lima loser days, be gone; world, watch out. Quinn Fabray is headed in your direction.


End file.
